


Heart new open'd

by CastleNation (Renalia)



Category: Hatfilms, The Yogscast, Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Introspection, Urban Magic Yogs, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renalia/pseuds/CastleNation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sips takes some time to reflect on what his life has become since its major overhaul a week ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart new open'd

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is the first thin give ever written for the UMY AU. I'm terrified. It's very rare I finish anything and rarer still I put it anywhere for people to read. Hope you enjoy it all the same.

Sips watched the traffic slowly drive by beneath him, his feet occasionally blocking out cars. He hummed aimlessly, swinging his legs in time with the erratic beat. The breeze blew icy fingers up his back. He pulled his crown-embroiled cap firmly down on his head, it wouldn't do to lose it after Trott had gone to so much trouble to get it for him.

'After all,' the water fae had said, 'a king needs his crown.'

He was a King now, he'll never get used to that. 

His kingdom was small, wholly contained to one questionably obtained apartment and its three other occupants. But all told that suited him perfectly.  
What was the point of being King of places you hadn't seen and people you didn't know?

It came with the added benefit of knowing his court liked him as they hadn't killed him after crowning him.

He had been told that the King of Misrule was an ancient ceremony unbroken for centuries. A mortal was crowned king of fae, celebrated and then ritually killed for luck in the new year and to forgive last years debts and bad will. Unbroken, at least, until last week.

From Sips' point of view everyone had been having a nice party, the hosts had taken a shine to him and he'd been filled with more drinks than he could count.

Then midnight struck, and because Trott had decided not to murder him the guests had decided to get in on the action and murder everyone else instead. The night was a blur to him after that, there had been a lot of blood and movement with his next proper memory being Trott telling him that he was awfully sorry but Sips was their King now and they'd appreciate it if he’d come willingly back to their place instead of having to be carried kicking and screaming.

While he liked himself and was quite glad he was alive instead of ritually slaughters and his blood drunk, he wasn't quite sure what they had seen in him. What was so special about him that they'd risk pissing off the entire (as far as he knew anyway) fae world?

Sips sighed. He had way too many unanswerable questions lately. Too many that caused people to change the subject, or if they had Smiths subtly, leave the room entirely. 

He often caught Trott staring at him, studying him like he was a puzzle to be solved. So it was entirely possible that they didn't know why they'd kept him either.

He looked down over the edge again. He was low enough that he could still make out individual people and broad brush strokes of what they were wearing. They all looked depressingly normal, hurrying home after a long day at work, trying to beat the weather that the clouds were threatening to drop on them.

It was hard to imagine that a week ago he hadn't known about any of the shit, he had been exactly like them.

‘Well,’ he smirked to himself, ‘not exactly.’

What would his family say if they saw him now? He pulled a loose thread off the ratty t-shirt –it was probably Smiths, he was the only one of the three that would let it get this bad – and wiggled his toes in the mismatched socks that were poking out of his tracksuit bottoms. He reached up to feel the crown embroidered onto his baseball cap, the thread still new and firm.

His mother would probably faint. His dad would have a fit. His sisters would freak out.

He plucked the cap off to run a hand through his thinning hair.

But who knows, decades change people.

The noise of stone on stone drew him out of his own head, bringing him back to the edge of the rooftop.

“May I join you, King?" Ross’ soft voice was barely audible above the breeze.

Sips swivelled to look at the gargoyle, marvelling once again at the light blue glass of his horns and tail. Said tail was slowly, nervously, waving back and forth behind him, catching light from the sunset and flickering rainbows across his grey stone body.

He was always so nervous around Sips, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was absurd to Sips that anyone was nervous around him, it was a reaction his 6’2” slightly pudgy frame had never caused before. 

The gargoyles ice blue eyes flicked from the patch of ground at his feet he'd been shyly staring at to briefly meet Sips’ eyes before flickering back down again.

Trott had explained Ross’ continual need to be near him even though it seemed like it pained him. Trott was patient and understanding with Sips, a man who hadn't a single clue about the world he'd been thrust into.

‘Gargoyles are protectors,’ the Selkie (kelpie? Sips couldn't keep it straight, why did they have to be so similar sounding) had explained over late night cups of tea, ‘they exist to guard buildings, communities, anything that needs bad juju kept out ‘cause the people inside are unable to do it themselves. Ross did this for centuries as far as we know.’ 

Trott’s knuckles had gone white as he gripped his cup in old, contained anger,  
‘Smith found him, abandoned, broken by the people he loved and been created to protect. They'd left him to rot in an empty church. It took some convincing but we brought him in under our broken wing and that's where he’s been ever since. He needs to protect people, it's woven into the very magic that made him and sustains him. So we let him, it comforts him even if it takes a while to get used to him hovering around you all the time.’ 

Sips had nodded, he understood. Ross was doing what Ross knew best, protecting him. But he'd been hurt before and here was Sips, an unknown, someone who – if he didn't guard himself – could hurt him again, could reject him.

Sips patted the roof lip next to him, “pull up some roof.And it's just Sips, you know how that king stuff weird me out. Makes me feel like I need a cape or to start beheading people or some shit.”

Ross’ face panicked.

“Sorry k-Sips, I forgot.”

“Forget about it, get over here before I get a crick in my neck.”

Ross hurried over, eyes still downcast.

Sips was surprised when instead of sitting next to him like he expected Ross crouched on the edge, his stony claws digging into the building. It made sense, he was a gargoyle after all, but it didn't make it any less weird to him.

It seemed weird was his life now. 

He allowed them to sit in silence for a while, finding that he enjoyed Ross’ quiet company when he wasn't so eager to please him constantly. Sips had to remind himself a few times that he was sitting next to a living being as Ross was as still as the statues he mimicked.

He elbowed Ross, still amazed he could do such a thing without breaking something, and pointed down to the sidewalk. Ross looked at him, startled, but followed the path of his finger.

“What do ya reckon, apology or present?”  
A man was hurrying along, the large bundle of flowers in his arms dwarfing him as he pushed carefully through the crowd. 

Ross was quiet for long enough that Sips thought that he hadn't understood him.

“Apology,” he finally opined.

“Oh yeah?” Sips felt a smile forming as he watched the man disappear out of sight, “why?”

“They're petrol station flowers, he's screwed up and been kicked out. All the florists in the area are closed at this time of night so he's had to go to the petrol station to find any.”

Sips was impressed, he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less from someone who had spent more of their life observing people from rooftops. 

“Ah, but there is one thing you didn't consider my dear Watson!”

Ross frowned as the reference went over his head, Sips spoke again before he could protest that his name was Ross.

“He could just be shit at giving gifts.”

Ross surprised him with a small chuckle,

“I'll concede to your superior human knowledge.” 

They lapsed into silence again while Sips looked for another person to pick over. An errant thought popped into his head.

“You know a lot about the local florists then?”

If Ross could blush Sips was sure he’d be bright red now.

“I … like to press flowers sometimes. Not so much anymore, Trott gets annoyed when opening books sets off his hay fever.” The gargoyles gaze was firmly fixed on the sidewalk below. 

Sips studied Ross’ profile. Here was the muscle of the garbage court who, armed with a baseball bat, had fought off fae and beast alike without breaking a sweat to get them out of the crowning gone wrong. Who was now admitting that he gave up flower pressing because it mildly inconvenienced someone.

Sips laughed, slinging an arm across Ross’ hunched shoulders.

“You're a strange one Ross,” he felt the gargoyle tense. He pulled Ross in for a side hug,

“I like it, don't change.”

A small but genuine smile crept across Ross’ face.

He couldn't of ever predicted that this is where his life would lead him. That one day he'd be sat on a rooftop with a gargoyle, casually leaning into each other as they came up with ridiculous back stories for the people scurrying by below.

But just because you had never expected it doesn't mean it can't be exactly where you were meant to be. He watched Ross throw his head back in a full blown belly laugh after Sips made some unkind suggestions about a portly man below in an ill fitting suit. Affection blossomed in his chest for the gargoyle, the strange being who wanted nothing more than Sips to be pleased with him.

Sips could see himself enjoying this life, crown and all.


End file.
